Page 49 of Vying Girls (Girls of Hazelhurst #2)

I push open the front door gently, fighting down the urge to knock. Mum only gets angry when I do, turning the act back on me somehow.

This place not good enough for you now? Don’t feel like it’s your home anymore?

I take a breath and call out for her.

‘In here,’ she hacks back from the lounge.

She’s sat on the sofa, telly on low, still in her dressing gown. It’s still early, I guess. I left the lodge at a stupid hour, extricating myself from Elly’s arms to grab the bag I made up the night before.

Can’t deny the paranoia I felt on the journey.

I’d been so consumed in Nic’s knockback that I’d forgotten about Damien.

Maybe forgotten is the wrong word. He had just been overshadowed by the crushing disappointment of Nic’s latest rejection.

I need to stop getting my hopes up. After all, she’s hated me for half her life.

God, that hurt to hear. All this time missing her, assuming she felt the same. How fucking wrong I was.

‘Hey.’ I swing my bag onto the sofa with a sigh.

‘Hey, yourself.’ Mum glances at me, giving me a quick once over. ‘You broken up or something?’

I blink, thinking she’s speaking about me and Nic before realising she means uni.

‘No. It’s still term time.’

The entire ride over, I was debating on whether to tell her about Nic. Blow the whole lid off on that. It’s her past too, another life I supposedly ruined. But I need answers, and I think Mum will be more of a key to them than Nic.

‘I wanted to talk to you about something.’

Mum’s quiet for an assessing moment. The TV drones on.

I breathe in the familiar scent of candles and cigarettes.

She must have dyed her hair recently. It looks good, shiny and black, falling thickly over her shoulders and obscuring her arm tattoos.

I forget that she’s pretty, that everyone says we look the same.

Except I’ve never had to dye my hair dark.

Wonder if that’s something else she hates me for.

‘Not knocked up, are you?’ she says with a strangled laugh.

I can’t help my grin. If you only you knew, Mother.

‘No. Definitely not.’

She grunts, turning her face back to the telly. ‘Something else, then?’

‘Yeah, something else.’ I pick at the flaking faux leather sofa. This is probably a certain kind of suicide. Like I’m watching the crash before it happens, like being the one to cause it. ‘I wanted to ask about before. Like, way before. You know, the things with Jack and Nicole and stuff.’

‘Why?’ Mum barks, her anger as instant as a struck match.

‘I’ve just been thinking about it, that’s all.’

‘You’ve had therapy,’ she points out, like that’s of any consequence. ‘I even paid for it after the NHS lot kicked you off. You said you felt better. That was years ago.’

‘Yeah, well, those kinds of things don’t just go away, do they? And I was a kid back then. No one could give me the proper truth.’

‘Well, I don’t want to talk about it.’ She lets out a disgusted snort. ‘This is what you fucking come back for? On a Monday bloody morning. My god. I don’t want to hear it. Go on. Callum will be here in a minute. He sure as fuck won’t care.’

I clench my teeth, fighting back tears. ‘Still with him, then?’

‘Yeah.’ She nods, voice softening. ‘Yeah. Doing good, we are.’ She throws me a glare. ‘Don’t want anything fucking it up.’

I run my sleeve over my nose, sniffing back tears. ‘And what about me being fucked up?’

I shake my head, concerned I’m going to break down on her.

This is so fucking hard. I’m so done with being everyone’s punching bag.

I know I’m fucking horrid but I’m not hurting anyone on purpose.

It’s just the effect of getting close with me, I guess.

This is why Haz and I work so well. We understand what it’s like to feel like a curse.

‘Just a couple of questions, Mum. Then I’ll go, I promise.’

She sighs, pitching forward to pick up a cooling cup of tea. ‘What’s brought this on, anyway?’

I look down, flicking away the black specks on my fingers from agitating the sofa. ‘Just stuff coming up that’s got me remembering. Can you at least tell me what happened to him? The truth. You told me he went to prison.’

Mum looks away. ‘Thought that would make you feel better as a little’en.’

‘But that’s not what happened?’

She draws in a long breath and lets it out as a sigh. ‘No, Tilda, that’s not what happened.’

I know what’s coming but it’s still a punch in a gut when she says, ‘Bastard hanged himself. The kid found him. Poor bitch. That’s the kind of thing you don’t get over.’

I nod, knowing that more than her.

‘Do you blame me? For him leaving, for him dying?’

Mum’s quiet for a long time, the TV becoming more and more blurred as tears fill my eyes.

‘He was a kid-perving bastard,’ she says eventually, the words sounding like glass in her mouth. ‘No fault but his own.’

‘So why do you hate me so much?’ I choke out.

She clucks her tongue, brows knitting to a frown. ‘Who said I fucking hate ya?’

‘Don’t have to say it, Mum. I mean, I know I was an annoying kid. Bit weird, but I kept out your way, didn’t I? Things weren’t so bad when I was really little, but after it all… I know you blamed me. I know everyone fucking blames me.’

Mum sighs a few times, eyes never deviating from the telly. ‘I might not have gone about things right but I’m not thick enough to blame you. I was hurting, is all.’ She peers around the tiny living room with dispassionate eyes. ‘Thought I’d found a way out. Thought I was finally done.’

‘Bet I was hurting more. And say what you want, you did blame me. And so does Nic and I’m just fucking sick of it. Sick of everyone hating me.’ Mum glances at me in confusion, the expression angering me. ‘He ruined everything, but you made it worse. You literally have no idea.’

I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, anchoring myself with the ache.

I know half of this is because I’m due on my period, the other half undoubtedly Nic’s brushoff.

It’s like a raw wound. It’s playing in a reel, every shitty thought I’ve had about myself, the way my brain was reshaped by trauma.

The person I probably would have been if none of it had happened. It just feels so fucking unfair.

‘Made it worse?’ Mum snaps. ‘Joking, aren’t you? We lost everything. I had to start again. Know how difficult that was? No, you were too busy bleating on about that fucking girl. Freak like her dad, that one. That was what you cared about, Tilds, not the things he did to you.’

‘So you admit he did do those things? Wasn’t just me making things up?’

Mum scoffs. ‘Wish it fucking was.’

‘If you hadn’t seen those photos, would you have believed me?’

Her silence is answer enough.

‘You wouldn’t have left him, would you? You loved the money more than me.’

‘I did the right thing,’ she says firmly. ‘As far as that fucking got me.’

‘What’s going on here, then?’

Our heads swing to the door at the taunting male voice.

Callum stands in the doorway, his cold eyes standing out with his newly cropped hair.

My heart thumps, transported back to that cursed Christmas, still hearing their row ringing in my ears, the bright lights of the hospital.

I remember feeling madder at Mum than Callum, and dealing with the guilt of that. She was the one choosing these men.

‘Reckon she’s tired,’ Mum says, looking at me. She heaves herself to her feet, mug in hand. ‘Gonna make up a brew.’

‘I’ll leave in a bit. Just missed a train.’

I look down at my feet once Mum’s left the room. My chest feels hollow, like it’s been scooped out. Despite the prickly awareness of Callum, my brain is foggy, thoughts disjointed and faraway.

Callum sighs as he lowers himself onto the armchair. ‘Been upsetting your mum?’

‘Does it look like she’s the one crying?’

He sucks his teeth. ‘No need to be rude.’

I scoff, pulling my legs to my chest. The sofa is so saggy I feel like I’m the size of a five-year-old.

‘Don’t be scoffing at me, darling. Don’t you be scoffing at me.’

I rest my cheek on my knees, head turned away from him. This fucking day. I want to crawl into a hole and sleep until it’s over. Or Haz’s bed, letting her darkness soothe my own. Tears prick my eyes again at just how desperately I want her.

Just something else to feel guilty about. They’d be blowing up my phone if I hadn’t turned it off.

I tense when I feel Callum slide in next to me.

‘Sorta strange you’re here actually.’

‘Mm?’ I unfold my legs to the floor, ready to run if I have to.

‘Yeah, was in the pub last night and met a friend of yours. Some blokey named Damien.’

I snap my head to Callum, adrenaline hitting so quickly I feel dizzy.

‘Boyfriend, is he? Bit old for you, ain’t he?’

‘No, he’s not my boyfriend. Fuck.’

I stand up, rooting in my bag for my phone and turning it on.

‘An ex? How old are you now, anyway? Hit twenty yet?’

I jiggle the phone in my hands, willing it to boot up.

‘Til-da,’ Callum sings. ‘I asked you a question.’

‘Yeah, I’m twenty. What did he say? Damien. What did he want?’

‘Nothing. A chat. He asked about me, your mum, you. Alright guy. Bought a couple rounds. Played some pool.’

It takes an eternity for the Wi-Fi to connect. Then my phone floods with messages. From Haz, from Elly. Nothing from Nic.

I shoot off a harried message to her before sitting back down. ‘Did he say why he was there?’

‘Why’d you think? For a pint.’

Sure. In a city he has no business being in. How the hell does he know where I live anyway?

Fuck. Shit.

I glance at the window, convinced I’ll see him. He must know my address. Mum’s address. What if he comes here next?

‘In trouble with your old man?’ Callum’s voice is thick with malicious intrigue.

‘He’s not my fucking boyfriend!’

There’s an edge of panic to my voice as I bring up Nic’s number and press call. How awful this feeling is. Vulnerable. Like a tracked animal. Stuck between this girlfriend beater and a psychotic stalker.